


Excite Me

by swordliliesandebony



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Background Promptis - Freeform, Bondage, Breathplay, Cardiophilia, Cock Rings, Glove Kink, Heartbeat Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Oral Fixation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 18:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13254501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordliliesandebony/pseuds/swordliliesandebony
Summary: Ignis takes Gladio's complaints over the dullness of state dinners to heart and goes out of his way to cause a discreet bit of trouble. Such actions, of course, require swift retribution.





	Excite Me

**Author's Note:**

> The background Promptis is literally a single sentence, but I like to warn people it's there just in case. 
> 
> There's not a whole lot of (read: any) plot here but it does take place assuming the Episode Ignis 'alternate ending', which could conceivably make it count as spoilery! 
> 
> Safe, Sane, and Consensual, though there's always that debate around breathplay/choking and there is a very brief instance in here that could be construed as such.

There are a great number of rules in regards to expected behavior for a king’s Shield, no shortage of which are unwritten. Likewise, and perhaps to a greater extent, these unspoken guidelines exist for his most trusted advisor. They tend to relate to exactly what titles and tones are used when, how menacing your glare should be in the heat of a negotiation, when exactly is the proper time to make a swift escape for your leige. There are subtler points as well; a great many messages can be silently sent by standing your defense at your right hand rather than your strategist, and even more vice versa. 

All of this is well and good and all important to know. None of it, so far as Gladio or Ignis could tell, related to what those Shields and Advisors got up to when they were given a moment away from their king and, as such, they came to the tacit agreement that- given proper discretion- there were few rules to be broken in that regard. Certainly there are no outright, written missives on how appropriate it might be for Gladio to be following just a touch  _ too  _ hot on Ignis’s heels as they retreat ostensibly to their individual quarters. Still, Ignis can’t help but allow a thought to pass, as he’s working in his key then shouldering open the door, that there might be something silently damning just how quickly he finds himself pressed back against the wall with heated lips so eagerly meeting his own. 

Well. If that’s the case- if there exists some endless line of former advisors and Amicitias screaming beyond the veil about impropriety- it’s simply too bad; they should have made this particular caveat a bit more clear. 

The thought is only a fleeting one. There are a number of more present and  _ pressing  _ matters to be focused upon just now. He hears the tumbler on the lock click into place and a clattering slide and click of chain into place some inches from his ear and somehow this brief clarity has him smiling around the rough intrusion of tongue against his own. Some nights, there would be a struggle here; a brief battle for dominance would ensue, generally winding up with a few extra bruises to conceal on their tumble toward the bed. Tonight, though? Ignis is pliant beneath the hands that grasp and force at his shoulders, very aware of the role he’s inclined this time to take.

“What the  _ hell  _ was that?” Gladio’s demand comes after a sharp hint of pain, teeth closing rough and quick for just a moment at his lower lip, tugging out the end of the kiss. Ignis can still taste him- lingering sweet tones of dessert tarts and fading hints of champagne- can feel the heat of breath meeting his own. He opens his eyes slowly to find Gladio’s already locked there in some semblance of a glare. He tries  _ very  _ hard not to smile.

“I could  _ swear  _ you spent the morning telling me how unbearably dull you find these occasions,” Ignis says it with a certain edge to his words, a shifting of accusations. He is well aware that he is entirely at fault if Gladio is actually upset, but he has good reason to believe otherwise; someone properly upset, after all, doesn’t often pin you in at the first moment for a kiss like that. He  _ certainly  _ doesn’t tend to have the telltale heat of a growing erection pressing the outside of your thigh, hips rocking behind for some brief friction.

“And you thought the best way to liven things up was doing  _ that _ . Right at the dinner table. In front of…” Gladio’s train of thought seems to trail off, which is no great surprise. Ignis has his hand drifting, squeezing between the trap set of near-flush hips so he can press firm, encouraging, against straining leather. 

“The Prime Minister, yes. And the king. And the… what are we calling Prompto?” Ignis keeps his voice even, enough so that he draws a groan of frustration from Gladio, a tighter grasp at his shoulder. It aches sharp for a moment before it loosens, sends a thrill of arousal through him in that momentary pain. It shows in his eyes, he’s sure, and in the way his lip curls just a little bit. He could conceal better if he really had the mind to, but Ignis isn’t terribly inclined toward playing  _ that  _ game just now. 

“King consort. And  _ not  _ the point,” Gladio’s voice is an absolute growl and that, too, damn near makes Ignis shudder, “Coulda caused a lot of trouble, pulling a stunt like that,” the scolding, again, loses some of its bite when it’s accompanied by Gladio rocking his hips, pressing his cock that much more firmly into Ignis’s palm. 

“Only if you couldn’t contain yourself. I know you better than that,” Ignis allows that twitching lip to turn properly to a smirk with this statement. He really enjoys, too, watching Gladio damn near do the same. He’ll play at anger for another moment or two, but they both know that it was a  _ fun  _ bit of diversion, the way Ignis had silently and imperceptibly worked fingers along the inside of his thigh beneath the cover of the table. The way he had coaxed him to life, promising a decidedly difficult escape at the meal’s conclusion as well as a hurried one, “or it could be that I was looking for a bit of trouble.”

“Well, you managed to find it,” Gladio counters quickly and now he does allow himself to smirk right back. His hands shift like lightning, each moving to circle around a wrist. Ignis’s innocent palm is pressed flat against the wall while Gladio lifts the offender, draws it up to his lips to press an absolutely incongruously chaste kiss at the center, “what the hell am I gonna do with you, Iggy? Something like that, you need to be taught a lesson,” even with the sharp threat, though, he’s playing affection with Ignis’s hand. He presses it to his cheek for a moment, shifts for another kiss into his palm. Then he’s lifting both of Ignis’s arms, still against the wall but pinned tight above his head. He pauses there, keeps a bit of distance, seems to be assessing the image created in front of him. There’s a fire lighting in his eyes, subdued and smoldering and it’s clear enough he’s sparked his own answer to that question.

“I don’t suppose you’re open to suggestion,” Ignis huffs his response and he tests his wrists against Gladio’s hold along with it. Tight, restricting, enough that it would take at least a nominal effort to escape the grasp. The tension of the pseudo-struggle makes him gasp, brings an intrigued heat to life in his belly, one that spreads eagerly downward. He arches his back from the wall instead, only for grasps to be shifted; Gladio shifts to hold Ignis’s wrists firm in place with one hand and he presses the free one into the center of his chest, fingers spanning wide and bracing him just as easily in place.

“Not at all,” he confirms, Gladio’s turn now to give the utterly evil little smirk. He holds Ignis there and he bears in, presses close until their foreheads are nearly flush, noses nearly bumping, lips grazing against each other’s when he speaks again, “gonna be good for me?” The question is posed as such, but it comes across in tone and intent entirely as a demand. Ignis feels his lip twitch against Gladio’s and he allows eyelids to droop just a hair, leaving his expression arranged into something of lazy defiance.

“I’ll certainly _ try _ ,” he says, and the sharp edge to the words only follow line his face has set. It wins a sharp grasp at his wrists, something that makes his teeth clench back on instinct, something that feels at once so threatening and so  _ good _ . The press against the wall goes sharper, at his chest and wrists hoisted above his head and at Gladio’s face, closing what little distance remained before his.

“Guess I’ll be going for a little insurance then,” Gladio is still speaking in that low gravel, but it’s desire as much as command and it’s drawing Ignis quickly into the mindset he’s been chasing with the night’s  _ misbehavior.  _ There’s a final shove against the wall before contact is released entirely, Gladio taking a wide step back to watch Ignis’s hands fall, to watch his posture sink by a few degrees. He regards it all with that same smirk and he adds, without much further ceremony, “get in the damn bed,” and he waits for Ignis to move before he seizes his wrist- careful pressure, sure not to do  _ proper  _ damage but also sure to retain that air of control, “and start losing the clothes.”

This much Ignis is happy to obey without so much as a teasing response. Gladio’s attention draws away from him for the moment, but Ignis has fair idea what he’ll be retrieving from the closet and he makes no complaint about the temporary neglect. Still, his walk is more saunter when he crosses to the bed and bends first to flick on the warm light at its side table. Just in case, of course, Gladio takes a glance in his direction through the approach. Ignis, all quiet propriety and reserve otherwise, can already feel the growing thrill of putting himself on display for Gladio here, beyond any other eyes.

The heavy Glaive’s jacket is shed first, without any great flourish or fanfare. For all the careful tailoring and precise fitting, the thing is still cumbersome and- for the situation at hand, in any case- far from enticing. Still, there is a certain care he uses when he drapes the leather over a chair beside the bed, one that seems to exist precisely for this purpose. Any other concerns aside, such garb  _ does  _ continue to demand a certain level of respect. That much is quickly enough forgotten, though. He’s just as hasty to shed away the ornate vest beneath- another piece that is deceptively heavy, protective without betraying as much. It joins its brother on the chair and, with his outermost layers done away with, Ignis finally eases into the bed.

Gladio is returning from his brief wardrobe-based excursion at this point. His expression is impassive but his approach still lights something within Ignis. Maybe it’s the pump bottle of lubricant and cock ring grasped in one hand, or the heavy coil of rope tucked under his arm. Maybe it’s simply the way his eyes betray a barely-contained heat, the way he can glimpse the heavy bulge of his half-hard cock fighting beneath leather. Whatever it is, Ignis’s teeth tug at his own bottom lip, tongue darts to follow, a needy gesture that is more instinct than appeal but one that still- hopefully, in any case- entices. 

Ignis takes some care in arranging himself on the bed. He presses his back near flat against the headboard and the soles of high boots dig into the mattress, spread near opposite sides. He smoothes a hand down his chest, traces lines that only barely disappear beneath the remaining compression top, follows obscured definition downward until the tips of his fingers are dragging up the elastic edge, easing out that first hint of properly bared skin. His eyes never leave Gladio’s while he puts on the small display, and he’s properly pleased to find the other man’s gaze fixed while he drops supplies to the bed and eases out of his own coat. 

“Putting on a show for me?” There’s amusement in Gladio’s voice, rough as it remains. He, for his part, is making no grand reveals while he undresses. The vest and his shirt are quick enough to be cast aside- a more crumpled heap atop Ignis’s care on the little wooden chair- and he doesn’t so much as take the care to pull his eyes away from Ignis when he sits to begin the work of his boots.

“Consider it an apology,” Ignis says, amused enough himself. He breaks his stare from Gladio’s, though the careful attention paid to him here is arousing enough itself. He can’t  _ help  _ it, though. His hands absolutely twitch where they draw further up his own torso, eager to press instead against the broad plane of Gladio’s chest. There are marks left, some muted and some more fresh, ones impressed by those self-same fingers through endless nights past. He pictures the rake of neatly-trimmed nails, tastes the heat of sweat on his tongue, and it’s impossibly hard to focus on anything other than the image of Gladio before him, stripped soon down to just the leather pants- button thumbed open, but no more action taken to them.

“Consider it accepted,” Gladio’s counter comes while Ignis is dragging the shirt over his ribs, still slow and careful with the ascent. He lifts himself from the backboard to ease his access and it’s only a shame that he needs to lift the damn thing over his head and misses the first narrowing of Gladio’s eyes. He knows this bit well, though, knows where the attention is drawn. It’s a general sweep at first, taking in some of his own handiwork from recent turns. Ignis is fair and he marks so damn easily and he knows the appeal there all too well. He knows, too, that Gladio’s fingers are likely enough itching the same as his own for more contact. He knows the urge, to tug at the shining and intriguing steel looped through his nipples, to thumb over the carefully crafted closures- ornate little skulls, rather than the tiny ball that might be standard; a small and intimately shared joke that did little to diminish the appeal. 

Gladio crawls properly onto the bed now, arranges himself neatly between Ignis’s knees and settles on his own at an angle. He doesn’t need to coax, to guide, but Ignis still lets him wrap hands carefully at the underside of his thigh, ease his leg out so it’s laid before on his own thigh, easier to work open the line of clasps on the boot. It’s a tender gesture and one that Ignis properly appreciates. There’s a certain ritual they have here, guards falling in moments before the scene takes proper shape. Ignis had, at first, found it somewhat jarring, going from those harsh words and rough touches to something so gentle, something steeped in outright affection. Over time, though, it’s come to spread an entirely different sort of warmth through his chest and across his cheeks and he’s entirely too eager to let Gladio strip away the boots, to feel strong fingers work a little circulation back into his calves each in turn.

Ignis waits a moment, lets himself linger in that lounging spot with his legs cradled in Gladio’s lap and that warmth spreading comfortably through him. It’s only a moment, if an extended one, but it’s pleasant and well-needed all the same and Gladio’s expression becomes soft through it. The spell is only temporary, though, and with Ignis down to bare feet he shifts himself on the bed, eases up onto his knees to play his thumbs at the band of his pants. There’s urgency building and it takes a great deal of self-control, if Ignis is utterly honest, not to say hell with it and rip his way out of the leather. Ignis fancies himself perfectly capable of that level of restraint though, and he takes some internal pride on the point while he’s angling his hips, working the pants so damn slowly down to bunch at his knees.

“Some apology,” Gladio breathes the words and he makes no secret of the way he stares, follows that eager line of muscle that disappears beneath the band of Ignis’s briefs, traces the outline of a half-formed erection, then down to warm and inviting thighs. Ignis can practically feel the gaze burning, feel that need to touch, “swear you’re trying to kill me here.”

“Not at all,” Ignis promises, but that smirk is still playing through his lips and he finds that much more resolve in keeping his motions slow and fluid and maddening while he works out of his pants entirely. It’s not a proper power struggle here, not by any means. Ignis has happily and eagerly given up those particular reins. But it  _ is  _ a game, and just this one little round he is happy to win, to have already won really, the way Gladio is already easing closer, bracing heavy hands on the tops of Ignis’s thighs. 

It’s only a little surprising, just a brief jolt of shock, when Gladio’s palm presses against the front of Ignis’s briefs. It draws a gasp from his throat and his eyes briefly shut and the sudden warmth, the light friction, feels  _ good.  _ He only lifts on his knees, offers an easier position when Gladio’s fingers tug and snap at the band. His eyes open just by half to watch the eager expression while he’s undressed completely. There’s a moment, around when he’s shifting again and the underwear is crumpling at the backs of his knees, where he thinks Gladio will ignore any greater plans for the night and dive right to action. He, for better or worse, does not. Instead, he makes a stretch back for a moment to grasp at the lube and hook his fingers into the dual rings of the little silicone toy beside it.

“You really got no right looking that good after that shit you pulled,” Gladio says the words with a smile though, one perfectly wicked that remains while he’s uncapping the lubricant and dripping it to his fingers, “hope you’re ready to make it up to me,” there’s a meandering quality to his voice, his attention focused briefly but pointedly on slicking the rings while he’s closing what little distance remains between himself and Ignis. He flicks his eyes up once he’s satisfied, inviting response.

“Perfectly ready,” Ignis confirms, accepts the challenge really. He eases his hips forward, too, perhaps a little bit too eagerly. It makes Gladio chuckle though, more careful concentration while he takes Ignis in his hand, working the loops down half-hard length, securing the restraint tight with one ring at his balls, the other gripping the base of his shaft. His hand leaves in a long stroke, easing some of that liquid wet over him in a rough and satisfying motion, enough to draw Ignis further to life, to have his hips leaning for more when Gladio is moving instead to reach for the rope. 

Ignis is lost for a moment in the sudden pressure, the change in sensation that is impossible to ignore. It’s still a foreign feeling, regardless of how many times he’s experienced it, and still an enticing one, one that draws him harder and more eager by the moment. Watching Gladio’s care with uncoiling the rope, too, makes his breath draw quick in anticipation, makes heat prickle down the column of his spine while he straightens on his knees.

Gladio, satisfied with his preparation of the binds, draws up Ignis’s hands to his own. His thumbs press into palms, appreciating the give of leather gloves, the warmth hidden beneath. He draws a hand to his lips, lets fingers flutter with that muted sensation there a moment before his tongue works the length of one, enveloping in in a distant heat that makes Ignis gasp yet again. He’s discrete with the way his fingers at the same time unclasp snaps at Ignis’s wrists, a gentle flick that is just barely registered beyond the intrigue of the brief show. His teeth close at the fingertip and he tugs the first glove away with some ease, a flick of his neck discarding it as a concern for later.  He weaves their fingers together with that bare hand, a squeeze that betrays something of a deeper intimacy than the simple, obvious play they’re preparing.

“You’re beautiful,” Gladio breathes the compliment when he releases Ignis’s hand, lets his own drift to cup his cheek, tilt his chin just a touch so their eyes meet full and proper. His other hand is working up beneath the edge of Ignis’s remaining glove, fingers pressing into palm with all the gentle care in the world. Ignis doesn’t entirely know how to respond, but he knows the words make his cheeks turn flush and his heart flutter heavily between his ribs. He knows he likes-  _ adores-  _ the words and the way they make the room go a little bit off balance. He helps free his hand so that he can clasp that one properly to Gladio’s, something akin to desperation in the gesture. It makes Gladio smile, has him drawing in and brushing their lips light this time, an easy glide of tongue and heat that only lasts a second and rocks Ignis to his core.

When they part, Gladio’s hand shifts to brush back stray hairs fallen across Ignis’s forehead, to look on him with more of that near-to-bursting affection. It’s a moment in a bubble, another one of those momentary spells that changes the room’s atmosphere, turns it to a different world entirely. He uses just the same care to pluck away Ignis’s glasses. These, he sets over to the bedside table with a sort of reverence before he seizes up Ignis’s hands again. He draws them to press at his chest and he leans happily into the brief contact. Ignis grips there, fingers eager against hard and heavy muscle, against perfectly appealing heat. He can feel the rapidfire of Gladio’s heart, kicking rhythmic anticipation into the heel of his right palm, and his hand shifts by some inches to better appreciate the sensation.

“You’re excited,” Ignis finds his own voice low, gentle, something close to a purr. His hand presses a little more firm, an illustration of his point of discovery. He could swear the eager pace quickens further under his words, against a lightly huffed laugh Gladio offers in response and beneath the warm press of Gladio’s hands back over his, pinning them in place for just a moment longer. 

“You have that effect,” the admission is almost shy and that makes Ignis feel that strange rush of warmth, that definite heavy thumping in his own chest in response. He opens his mouth again, some counter forgotten quickly enough as Gladio draws his hands down to rest in his lap instead. He guides Ignis to take a sort of prayer’s position there, palms pressed light together, though he pauses when he slides the rope beneath rather than going straight to work, “this is okay?” 

The concern, that moment of pause, is only another moment for Ignis to feel such affection, such warmth toward Gladio. They’ve done this more than enough times before and they know each other well- better, Ignis thinks, than likely he knows or is known by anyone else- but the moment is always taken, the confirmation always given. Perhaps it’s more gesture than genuine concern, but it’s important and it shows more of that care that Gladio is so damn good at weaving into everything else. It has Ignis smiling, no evil smirk or mischief, but a genuine expression that spreads to his eyes when they meet Gladio’s again.

“Perfect. Usual safeties?” Gladio nods to the question and they share that smile for just a moment before his attention goes more fully to working the rope around Ignis’s wrists. Their rules were set plenty well in advance, words to slow and pull back and stop should the need be, and those rules seldom change. They may be a little more daring from time to time, or a little more tame at others, but this preparation, the confirmation and smiling and tenderness always precedes and it always works well for them. 

It’s only a moment’s thought though, any consideration of those small details, as Ignis finds himself watching just as rapt while Gladio works the tie around his wrists. He follows with fingers slipped carefully between skin and rope, checking the tightness, confirming comfort. Another one of those little moments of clarity before they sink in, another rush of warmth. It’s quickly dashed, replaced by utter heat though, as Gladio wrenches the tie upward. It’s not an entirely rough motion, but it’s quick and it has Ignis straightening his back, putting himself at attention. It has his cock straining full-hard against the ring, a pleasant and needy sensation.

Gladio positions Ignis’s hands behind his head, and then he’s pressed in close, almost flush with arms encircling Ignis, working the rope around his chest, a loop an inch or two below his nipples. He anchors and secures in the back, checks the tension again, checks the security, and he sits back on his heels to admire his handiwork. That bit, it drive Ignis absolutely mad. There’s a certain chill that comes with Gladio backing away, one that’s followed by an absolutely boundless heat with the sweep of eyes over him, with the tension at his cock and around his wrists, holding tight when he makes a testing struggle against the binds. His back arches, hips lift a little, and he is utterly on fire with just the knowledge of Gladio’s eyes glued to him.

“Can’t have you gettin’ too handsy again, after that display at dinner,” Gladio speaks in a somewhat harsh tone and it turns hairs on the back of Ignis’s neck upward. It’s a familiar shift, but it’s still one that has a marked effect on Ignis. There’s that note of command that pulls through, something usually reserved for battle, something Ignis otherwise would never hear directed toward himself. It’s an absolutely inexplicable desire raised in him, the one to give up some of that control he would normally cling to so dearly and desperately; he  _ wants  _ to hand that over to Gladio. Moreover, he wants to  _ please  _ him by doing it.

“Of course not,” he can see that a response is expected and he can see almost immediately in a flash of Gladio’s eyes that he hasn’t managed quite the proper one.

“Is that any way to be addressing the King’s own Shield?” Gladio demands response again, and this time Ignis is well-aware what he missed. Gladio’s hand goes to his throat, swift and eager. There’s a squeeze, constricting but with no proper restriction, careful and purposeful as any of Gladio’s movements. It’s a threat, a thrill of danger that has Ignis swallowing against his palm when he speaks again, “Some  _ respect _ would benefit you here. Try again. Address me properly.”

“Of course not,  _ sir _ ,” Ignis repeats, emphasis on that final point, on that accepted title. It shifts here and there, depending on their mood, but Gladio’s hand loosens at his throat and his lips curl and Ignis knows well enough that he picked an acceptable route.

“Better. I’ll only be forgiving that slip once. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Ignis is falling into place here. The veiled threat in Gladio’s voice might as well be hardwired to his cock, the way it throbs in response. He chances a look too- follows Gladio’s hands, more like- to see him pressing down his pants and briefs in a single eager motion, full hard and ready himself as well now. He finds he holds the gaze just a bit too long, Gladio’s eyes follow his and it wins him a rough chip at his chin, a guide up to Gladio’s eyes, all lit with amusement.

“Eager, are we? Too bad. Might have let you touch, if you coulda behaved earlier,” there’s another huff of laughter from Gladio with that, one that makes Ignis groan deep in his throat. Of course, he expects- wants, to an extent- to be denied here; that doesn’t mean he’s going to take it lightly or without some regret. Gladio’s cock is thick and heavy, hard and inviting, and Ignis is all too damn aware of that fact, and the fact that he’ll be waiting until Gladio’s had these first bits of fun to make any use of it. 

Ignis allows himself a whine, one that only grows louder when Gladio’s fingers close each around a nipple, eager little tugs at the rings there to follow. It’s a sharp and quick sort of pain, working him into peaks, sending sensation coursing through him, heat in his veins. Gladio hushes him right along with a new, rougher pull and it has Ignis gritting down on his teeth, straining to stay silent.

“Good. That’s perfect. Nice and quiet,” Gladio’s voice is soothing in a way, that bit of praise enough to motivate Ignis’s silence. It’s all part of the game here; they’re positioned far enough in this wing that all the screaming in the world would be unlikely to arouse any suspicion. It’s control, applied quickly and neatly and with some difficulty on Ignis’s part and it makes his erection ache between them, eager for a different sort of praise. Another tug follows, unexpected and just as sharp, and Ignis bears down on his lower lip to avoid response. His chest arches though and his stomach tightens and he hears Gladio groan for him instead, “you like that?”

“Yes, sir,” Ignis wastes no time in his response and it wins him a rough little pinch to each of those swollen buds instead, one that has him sighing through hitched and heavy breath, one that already has the heated pinpricks of sweat blossoming at his hairline. 

“I can tell,” Gladio muses and his right hand shifts, thumb aligned hard against Ignis’s sternum and fingers spanning the left side of his chest, fore and middle fingers pinching adorned nipple between, “ _ now  _ who’s the excited one?” and his hand presses a little bit more firmly in place while the other slides behind, braces between Ignis’s shoulders. It’s only when Gladio speaks again that Ignis fully appreciates the position, the sensation of his heart bucking wildly against that light pressure, “ _ damn  _ excited, wouldn’t you say?”

“I...yes, of course, sir,” Ignis has to struggle with his words here for a moment. The sensation is different, a little bit overwhelming. It balances so heavily between those sensations of exposure and submission and ones of affection, genuine wonder between one and the other. He would only curse the fact that he is, of course, in no place to make suggestions just now but Gladio seems to take cue all the same.

“Of course,” Gladio repeats, and his fingers press deeper still, aching light against Ignis’s ribs, fair threatening to leave a new mark. That idea alone has his heart galloping a degree quicker, which in turn has Gladio’s eyes narrowing, lips turning further upward, “What is it, then? What’s making my pretty little thing’s heart go wild?”

Ignis pauses only to lick his lips, to try and draw enough air in to formulate a response. There are about a dozen on his lips, but he’s fallen into a space of obedience, a place where he wants only to please Gladio, to send similar thrills between his legs and through his whole body, and so he stays simple and honest and- so to speak- to the heart of the matter, “it’s  _ you,  _ sir. It’s… for you.”

“For me, huh?” there’s appreciation coupling with the amusement in Gladio’s voice over Ignis’s answer. He’s pleased though, that much is clear. Still, he draws his hand away and Ignis feels a moment of regret, a moment where he wishes he had the position to as for more on this line without breaking the scene. It’s an unnecessary thought, as it turns out. Gladio presses Ignis back so that his hands are trapped between shoulders and headboard and he moves his hands down to the jut of his hips. In the same motion he sweeps close, soft hair and wiry beard sweeping down Ignis’s skin, and he presses his cheek, his ear instead to that spot.

Ignis cannot place, cannot explain the immediate effect the action has on him. His cock thrums heavy and aching in time with his examined pulse, quicker still with such attention paid. His back arches again, chest rising out to meet Gladio’s face and he gasps again, eager. That sharp inhale sends his heart, already thoroughly taxed, tripping over itself and he feels Gladio press yet closer in return, feels his thumbs squeeze heavily at his hips and drive more of that pleasure-pain sensation through his body. 

“ _ Damn _ ,” the word is all breath and heat cast across Ignis’s skin and the outright awe in tone is driving him wild, making that promised silence near impossible to maintain. And Gladio, damn him, only making it that much more pressing when he speaks, “it’s going  _ crazy  _ for me, huh? You always do like giving a good show,” still, the words have a sort of gentleness hidden behind the gruff tone and the rough teasing and Ignis can’t get enough, “sounds amazing. Can’t believe it’s so  _ loud _ ,” Gladio’s thumbs grip in again and he quiets for just a moment, apparently focused on that frantic thumping, only working quicker with each bit of attention, “how does it feel?”

“Like it may burst, sir,” Ignis replies again at once, through gasped and quiet breaths. There’s a strain to his voice, an effort to keep it quiet, keep it relatively even. He can feel muscles shift in Gladio’s cheek, a new little smile. 

“Yeah,” Gladio agrees with the sentiment and he remains for a moment before a thought seems to strike him, “can have some  _ fun  _ with that…” the musing seems more to himself than Ignis, but it’s an intrigue that has his heart tumbling through another skipped and botched cycle. Gladio only adjusts his cheek for comfort, for pressing closer, and he lifts his hand, trails it up Ignis’s chest until it’s bracing around his throat. When he squeezes, it’s only light, more a signal than a thorough action, but a cue that Ignis can take. 

He draws in a breath, heavy and deep, and holds it. His chest burns, aches almost immediately with the effort, one that he knows he won’t be able to maintain for long. His heart responds with furious kicks to his ribs, a sensation that nearly hurts all itself. The rate slows harshly with that increased force and there’s a little stop in time, with Gladio’s hand tightening at his throat while, just a few seconds, just through the tail end of his struggle against that burning need for oxygen. His head buzzes, dizzies, and for a moment he thinks they’ve somehow managed to go too far, but Gladio notices the change just as quickly and his hand draws away quickly, signal for Ignis to gasp through strangled breaths. Signal for his heart to, briefly, burst into a flurry of desperate action against Gladio’s ear, a tumbling and twitching cacophony that has Gladio groaning aloud, pressing closer, pressing his hips forward until the wet heat of his erection presses slick and needy against Ignis’s thigh.

Gladio lingers, stays pressed in place until Ignis finds some rhythm to his breaths, until his poor heart’s pace resumes its frantic-but-steady onslaught. He lifts then, presses closer, presses his forehead to Ignis’s with a hand on either cheek. There’s a moment where he seems ashamed, seems uncertain of what passed.

“You okay?” all of the edge leaves Gladio’s voice and, for that second, the scene drops in place. It’s not unusual. If the sense passes between them that one or the other- or occasionally both- has gotten carried away, that brief check-in is a given. It’s followed with lips soft and warm and breathy pressing over Ignis’s, just brief, betraying some uncertainty. 

“More than okay,” Ignis confirms just as quickly as he’s responded to each of Gladio’s questions or demands thus far. His mind, though a little rattled, a little uneven from the strain, remains soundly in that space where he exists to please Gladio, where he’s all too eager for more praise, more of that subtle concern. He’s aware too, as ever, of his limits, and he’s aware that they’ve gone farther than that, that his body has fair likely given more concerning physical responses, too, simply without such attention to it. He doesn’t point it out though. He also doesn’t point out that, if only his hands weren’t bound so tight in place behind him, he’d be apt to draw Gladio’s face right back in place. A thought for later. 

“Good,” Gladio’s voice wavers between for a moment, edging back to find that old space of command. He lingers so close to Ignis, examining his eyes, confirming silently for himself that the little safety check was passed, before he backs away, straightens just a bit, the old pseudo-ferocity back to his face, “‘Cause I’m not done with you yet,” he smirks through the words and lets his hands fall back to Ignis’s hips. He draws him up to his knees and he eases him close. Works him over until he’s seated at Gladio’s lap, until their erections- Ignis’s painful and restrained and neglected, Gladio’s already wet and leaking and deeply eager- can brush against each other. Until he can reach behind and grip Ignis’s ass with a resounding crack.

That, as much as anything, is a bit of a call back to the scene. It makes Ignis gasp, makes him fight against the binds in some attempt to… what? Certainly not escape. Draw closer, more likely, draw himself until he and Gladio are flush, until there’s no space between them and that contact is all-encompassing. It’s impossible, of course, but it’s no matter. He sees Gladio’s free hand reaching for the lube again and the breath goes out of him just as quickly.

“Assuming,” Gladio drawls out the word while he works the bottle open again, drizzles liberally over his fingers, “you think that poor heart of yours can take it,” a tease, if there ever was one, because he doesn’t wait for any confirmation before one hand is lifting Ignis again, the other running slick down the curve of his ass.

“I assure you it can, sir,” Ignis doesn’t give up on answering, unnecessary though it may be. He already feels that first intrusion of Gladio’s well-slicked forefinger circling his entrance. This time when Ignis groans, Gladio doesn’t tell him not to. He lights up, in fact, surges, presses that finger quick and deep inside him. 

“Good,” Gladio groans, finger probing further in, “you’ve had me thinking about this all damn night,” his finger hooks and presses inward, a rough stroke that has Ignis arching and keening against him. It has Ignis, in fact, close to losing whatever composure gave him the ability to speak. Gladio knows his body well, knows exactly how to distract away from any of the unpleasantness of preparation. He knows to press his hips so there’s friction at their cocks, a little bit more torture to the pressure around Ignis’s, and he knows how to press from behind into Ignis’s prostate until he’s damn near singing.

“Gladio... _ ah _ , sir,” Ignis corrects himself there, a faltering fix while Gladio is working a second finger into him. This part burns a little more, distracts just a touch from the pleasure. It’s not entirely unpleasant though, not by any means. And, more than anything, it’s a preview of that hot fullness he’s promised. Ignis’s eyes work down, look over Gladio again, all disheveled hair and sweat blossoming on his skin and erection leaking eagerly.

“That’s okay, sweet thing. You say my name,” Even the endearment comes with an edge, with Gladio’s fingers pressing deeper still and with his forehead working up against Ignis’s again, “I’ll have you  _ screaming  _ it soon enough,” Ignis thinks that part is a hell of a lot more accurate than even Gladio would imagine. After all, he’s sure he already would be, with the pair of fingers pressing and stroking so expertly within him, if only his mouth weren’t captured and the cry not swallowed by Gladio’s wet lips and attacking tongue. 

That third finger comes rougher still, and it has Ignis on fire in a million different regards. His hands grip at each other, for want of anything better. The loss of control there, the denied ability to get his hands gripping and tearing into Gladio’s back or at his shoulders strikes him sharply. It’s that double-edged sword, an utter thrill and a frustrating loss of agency. He loves it, but for a moment with fingers working him open and a balance controlled entirely by Gladio, he hates it too.

And, with that permission given, he isn’t staying quiet. He’s hissing Gladio’s name, gasping at the touches, particularly those pointed ones that attack his prostate and make him feel quite like he’s going to burst before Gladio ever even manages to get inside. Damning pressure, strange sensation aside, he has to be thankful for those rings holding him steady, holding against the impending and promising pleasure. It’s already coiled up in his belly, a snake ready to pounce, only contained by the fact that Gladio hasn’t given his permission, hasn’t had  _ any  _ of his fun just yet.

That part is coming soon though, with fingers wrenched free and grasping at that bottle once more. Ignis groans again, an utterly pathetic noise, to watch Gladio spreading the slick over himself. He wants nothing more in that moment than to be doing the honors, to have his fingers wrapped around the thick length, tracing veins and turning across the head. Better yet, mouth and tongue working the same, working  _ Gladio _ into his own desperate noises. 

Ignis can only discard the thought when a more appealing one presents itself. That more appealing one is Gladio’s hands shifting so that he’s carefully guiding Ignis again, so he’s seating him with his cock pressed heavy and close at Ignis’s readied entrance, wet and twitching and only barely contained. Their eyes meet again and it knocks the breath out of Ignis for a moment entirely, that  _ look  _ in Gladio’s eyes.

“You ready?” Ignis nods his response, absolutely desperate, trying to ease himself down against the press of Gladio’s hand. It wins a chuckle, which is one hell of a shit consolation prize, “tell me, then. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you, Gladio. Sir. I want you  _ now _ ,” Ignis doesn’t hold back on the demand budding in his throat and at his tongue and coursing his body. He doesn’t want to wait. He’s been waiting for this all damn day himself, too. Gladio’s patience in this moment is absolutely astounding and absolutely infuriating. He struggles downward against Gladio’s bracing hand once more, but it’s no use.

“You’ve got me. So tell me  _ exactly  _ what you want.”

“I want….” Ignis absolutely groans, because this part of the game is more amusement than arousal. More Gladio’s eyes lighting up with unallowed laughter when Ignis is drawn to be so crude. Or, hell, maybe he  _ does  _ find some eroticism in the crass words on the polished tongue. Whatever the case may be, Ignis doesn’t have the will, the patience, the self-control to try and deny him here, “I want you to fuck me. Until I can’t remember my bloody name.”

“I can do that,” Gladio smirks at once and his hand shifts, guides while his hips lift, while he works Ignis down onto his cock in a motion that is near fluid, so natural from a  _ hell  _  of a lot of practice, “better not forget  _ my  _ name, though,” he hisses this command straight to Ignis’s ear and he follows with a harsh thrust of his hips and tightening of teeth over Ignis’s earlobe. 

It’s an explosion inside Ignis from the first moment he finds himself so deeply and perfectly full. He wants to lurch forward, to get arms around, to get his bearings, but again it’s impossible, it’s him left arching instead, working an angle with little more than hands at his hips to guide. And it feels  _ good _ . It feels damn good, to let Gladio set the pace so subtly there, with hands and his own rocking hips guiding them, forcing them together and near full apart, frantic and quick.

This position usually plays out differently, Ignis taking full control of the situation while he rides Gladio down into oblivion. The shift is good, enticing, breathtaking. And the angle, it’s fucking  _ perfect _ . It has Gladio rocking so surreptitiously into  _ just  _  the right spot, has him turning Ignis to absolute liquid heat around him while they move, perfect tandem by nature, by design of the position and the binds, if not by any great effort. 

“ _ Gladio _ ,” his name becomes a mantra on Ignis’s lips as they move together. Slow and heavy at first, but the rhythm doesn’t last at that pace for long. Gladio had been at least half-hard and thoroughly touch starved most of the night and the fact that they managed any scene from it at all with that much need roiling between them is a miracle all its own. And Ignis, hell, Ignis is sure he would have come already if it weren’t for that band around him, making him feel like more than one organ is fit to burst. 

“Yeah. Feels good, huh?” Gladio’s response is disjointed, spoken through some difficulty with halting breaths and an airy, almost mindless lilt to his voice. His hips are snapping harder, quicker here, and his hand finally goes to close around Ignis’s cock, more explosive contact that wakes that coiled threat, draws it to a fever pitch, “feels  _ damn  _ good,” he agrees with himself, wrist giving a harsh little twist around Ignis’s head, drawing him to a sticky and leaking mess, his whole damn body trembling with the effort of restraint.

“I...I can’t. I need…” Ignis doesn’t have the mind nor the will nor the necessity to elaborate. Gladio knows him, knows how damn  _ close  _ he is. And Ignis knows the same is true on his end, that the bursts of stars behind his eyes and electricity through his veins are shared, mingling, turning their bodies damn near one through the simple shared pleasure.

“Just… fuck, not yet. Not yet,” Gladio’s voice doesn’t hold a whole lot of command there. His thighs are trembling beneath Ignis’s from his own effort. There’s a harsh smack of skin against skin every time he bottoms out inside. His fingers grasp back down to Ignis’s ass, spread him further, push him harder still. It’s burning ache and numbing pleasure working back and forth, spreading and mingling and enhancing one another. “ _ There _ ,” it’s a strangled grunt, one that comes with his hips lifting further, lifting Ignis near full to his knees again, “c’mon, then. With me.”

Ignis is more than happy to think that he manages to hold off for that command, for that permission, but it’s just as likely a lie; the moment he feels that wet heat burst into him, he’s done for, and he’s done for. The orgasm doesn’t creep up on him, and while it doesn’t take him by surprise, it still takes him entirely and suddenly. It has his whole body tensing and Gladio’s name ripping from his lips, his throat, his chest, every part of him responsible for forming the word. It has rushes of heated euphoria seizing every inch of him, drowning out the world, drowning out any more than the thunderous drum of his pulse through his ears and Gladio’s encouraging whispers of his name somewhere impossibly far away. 

It’s blinding, in a sense, in the way that he can’t keep his eyes open, can’t keep his head from pressing back and his arms from lifting higher behind him, rope creating a sort of cradle tearing through his hair. And that sensation, too, is all pleasure, all culmination of those endless teasing hours between this time and their last. It has him forgetting to breathe, forgetting to respond, to do anything other than  _ exist  _ through the sensation, whole-bodied and full-minded and endless in those handful of seconds.

It’s forever, it seems, before Gladio is carefully, so tender and breathless, lifting Ignis from him, easing him to the bed and into a wet mess between them. Ignis manages to open his eyes, to tilt his head and find Gladio moving in close again, arms circling. He takes it as an embrace for a moment, leans into it, before he even has sense to recall the binds and realize that Gladio is diligently at work undoing them. 

Strong hands catch at his wrists again when his hands are eased out of that place and they guide, slow, holding his arms in one angle and then the next as they’re eased down. They tense and lock and threaten to cramp, but Gladio has a soothing hush to his voice and the slow descent helps some. The proper embrace that comes, once Ignis’s hands are lowered and the rope tossed aside, helps much more and they remain that way for some long moments, breath slowing and bodies relaxing into each other, gentle reassurances from Gladio and slurred confessions of emotion that Ignis doesn’t often admit losing themselves against a tattooed chest.

A shiver works its way through Ignis’s body, a common enough response even with only an arm’s worth of bondage at play. He doesn’t have time to open his mouth to voice the goosebumps before Gladio is drawing the blankets up around him, adjusting and tugging him in close again. These moments, these spells, still catch Ignis off guard. Still make him bask in the wonder of just how in tune they find one with the other.

“Feel okay?” Gladio’s voice rumbles against his cheek after a few moments sandwiched between comforts and that, too, makes Ignis feel warmer. He smiles, eyes shut while he lets his cheek nuzzle into Gladio’s chest.

“Quite.” 

“Should I run a bath?” 

Ignis hesitates before he answers that question. It’s an appealing idea, though weighing it against his current position, he’s not sure that it quite wins out. A noise catches in his throat, a thoughtful hum that does little more than confirm he managed to hear Gladio’s offer. He lingers a bit longer before allowing a sigh and forming a response.

“Will you be joining me in it?” and he moves his hands, still a little bit slow to action from their disuse, to work his arms properly around Gladio. An affirmation, if nothing else, that his company is exactly what Ignis is seeking just now.

“That can be arranged,” Gladio agrees, one of those hearty chuckles caught somewhere in his chest, drawing a smile wider from Ignis, drawing a kiss somewhere along where that eagle screams above his heart. It is, in all honesty, a somewhat rare bit of affection on Ignis’s end. He’s found himself growing more open to the displays as time passes, as the two are given more opportunity to see that- against all odds- a future may yet exist for them here. Still, these quiet moments afterward are the easiest for him. The easiest for Gladio too, it would seem, in the way he is so quick to shift and gather Ignis up- blankets and all- for the jaunt over to the en suite.

Likewise, Ignis might normally complain about such a bout of doting- something he’s finding Gladio almost infuriatingly inclined toward. Just now though, it’s perfect, entirely what he needs. He smiles through the short walk and the warm expression remains when Gladio gets him settled on the edge of the sink to wait out the bath’s preparations.

“You might have made a mistake here,” Ignis manages to keep his voice serious and he hides a growing smile behind the blanket when he pipes up, just loud enough to carry his voice over running water, over occasional splashing of oiled beads therein. Gladio looks over his shoulder to these words, thick brows knitted behind mussed hair.

“What’s that?” the concern is deep, thick in his voice, and he returns to stand in front of Ignis at once. A little jolt of guilt comes to Ignis’s chest when he sees the way the lines show a little deeper at the edges of Gladio’s eyes, creasing the section of scars at his forehead. He drops the blanket just a little for his smile then, unwilling to hold the facade too long.

“If that was a punishment, I don’t think I can ever be expected to behave.” 

Gladio lets out a laugh that betrays exactly how much relief those words bring and he follows with a kiss, one slow and warm and sparking all of the feelings that make Ignis’s chest feel too full and terribly comfortable all at once.

“I might be able to live with that.” 


End file.
